


Full of Joy

by sarahandthegraveyardshift



Series: Motel Hell Chronicles [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Murder Husbands, and now i really want muffins, anyway, because i love little moments like these, but i would write the crap out of that friggin adorableness right there, getting through life, i like this one a lot, my cat says hi, no actual mpreg though, stiles makes muffins, there's some talk of mpreg, these boys I swear, together, where they're just stiles and peter, who wants an mpreg?, who wants muffins?, why are they so ding dang adorable?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahandthegraveyardshift/pseuds/sarahandthegraveyardshift
Summary: "What are you thinking about, my love?""You. Only you, Peter."[The incandescent moments.]
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Motel Hell Chronicles [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742245
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106





	Full of Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hi there! Hey there! Hello there! My goodness, you are positively stunning today! Did you know? Of course you did, how could you not? :)
> 
> My friend, I thought of only happy moments while writing this. Because there needs to be happy moments, always. (Especially with Stiles and Peter because those boys—I swear—need every ounce they can get.) 
> 
> You are so unbelievably lovely, and I am so, so happy that you are here! Enjoy, love!

i.

Stiles sighs and hums in content, fingers tangled in Peter's hair as the older man presses open-mouthed kisses against his bare abdomen. The wet heat of his tongue stirs something low in the young man's belly, and his cock gives a valiant twitch of interest. He's already come twice. The sheets beneath him are damp with sweat and lube and cum, but he smiles despite it. He's happy.

Outrageously. Incandescently. Ridiculously.

Happy.

“What are you thinking about, my love?” Peter asks, his voice a soft rumble and his eyes bright and vivid in the dark.

Stiles's breath hitches as he draws in the warm, heady scent of sex. “You,” he says simply, chuckling as Peter slides up his body and presses himself into the cradle of Stiles's hips. 

“Me?” 

Stiles's fingers flutter over the man's broad shoulders and up his neck to rest on either side of his face. “Only you, Peter.” He smiles into the kiss that Peter gives him, parting his lips and meeting the man's tongue with his own. 

ii.

Stiles breathes in the smell of freshly-baked muffins as he takes two tins out of the oven, setting them on the stove and smiling to himself. They look so good. 

A pair of warm arms wraps around him from behind, and he hums happily, tilting his head to the side and allowing Peter to rub a stubbled cheek against his neck. 

“You've been busy,” Peter murmurs, lips pressed to the shell of the young man's ear.

Stiles removes his oven mitts, sighing as he looks over at the breakfast bar where dozens of muffins are still cooling. Blueberry, strawberry-lemon, chocolate chip, banana nut, cherry almond, and zucchini-carrot. The ones in the tins are triple berry, Derek's personal favorite. “Pack meeting tonight,” the spark explains, closing his eyes and leaning back as Peter starts a trail of kisses along his neck and jaw. “Not sure if I made enough.”

Peter chuckles, glancing at the battalion of baked goods. “I think you made enough to feed an army.”

“Or a small pack of werewolves.”

Peter turns the younger man's head until he can place a kiss on the corner of Stiles's mouth. “You're amazing.”

Stiles smirks. “You only say that because I made your favorite.”

With a wolfish smile, Peter steps over to the breakfast bar and picks up one of the cherry almond muffins, taking a large bite and groaning as he chews. “I say that because you're amazing.”

The young spark smiles, reaching forward to turn the oven off and placing his hands on the warm surface of the stove top. He draws in a deep breath, pushing his shoulders back and grunting at the stretch of tense muscles.

“Tired, my love?” Peter asks softly, setting the rest of the muffin down and returning to Stiles's side. He kneads the younger man's shoulders and neck, watching with satisfaction as Stiles relaxes under his touch. “Come to bed,” he says, tone hushed as he breathes against Stiles's ear. “We can nap before the meeting.”

“Mm,” the spark hums, turning in Peter's hold and circling the older man's shoulders with his arms. “That sounds nice.” He smiles into the kiss that Peter presses against his lips. “I might not want to leave the bed once we get in it, though.”

Peter peppers his lips and jaw and neck with kisses, a low noise rumbling in his throat. “I might not want to let you leave the bed once we get in it, either.”

Stiles draws in a sharp breath, eyelids fluttering shut, as Peter sucks hard at the pulse point just below his jaw. “What about—uhn—the muffins?” The older man thrusts his hips against Stiles's, and the spark's mouth drops open as a moan escapes him.

“Derek can come get them.”

Stiles pants harshly, writhing against Peter as he's pressed to the oven door. His fingernails dig into the older man's biceps, scratching but leaving no marks. “Meetings are important,” he argues despite the voice in his head telling him to keep his stupid mouth shut. “They're—Peter!—They're important to Derek.” Peter leans back, staring at him with pupil-blown lust. Stiles has enough restraint to run a hand through the man's hair and smile fondly. “They're important to us, too, babe.”

Peter sighs, forehead resting against the younger man's shoulder as he continues to run his fingers through the werewolf's hair. “They are,” he agrees, huffing and nipping at the spark's t-shirt. “Just a nap, then. And after the meeting—” He raises his head, staring Stiles directly in the eyes. “—I get you all to myself.”

With a quirk of his lips and a soft chuckle, Stiles raises his chin, staring down his nose at the older man. “All yours,” he promises. Peter leads them to the bedroom, shucking their clothing and wrapping the younger man in a warm embrace as they burrow beneath the covers of their bed. Stiles's eyes fall shut immediately, sleep closing in as he murmurs, “Always yours, Peter.”

iii.

Peter and Stiles rarely go on dates—they aren't really the dating type. And when they do attempt one, it rarely goes to plan. Meaning, of course, it generally ends in one or both of them being blown in the bathroom at a restaurant or the back of a movie theater or some other very public place where people could walk in on them at any moment. And people have—several times. 

But the dates that do go well, the ones where Stiles finds himself laughing without holding back and talking about everything and anything that doesn't have to do with what they killed over the last month and just watching the older man when he isn't paying attention, are the ones that Stiles likes the most.

Peter looks up at him over his menu, and Stiles blinks and smiles at being caught staring. “Everything all right?” the werewolf murmurs, smirking as a blush rises in the spark's face.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, pretending to look over the drink section. He already knows he's getting a strawberry milkshake. “Yeah, everything's good. Just...” He looks up again, and Peter is watching him with patience and kindness and amusement and so much love. “You're kinda gorgeous, you know?”

Peter chuckles and leans forward slightly. “Not half as gorgeous as you, darling.”

Stiles ducks his head and grins at his menu. He doesn't see himself that way—never has. But Peter does. And he reminds him constantly how bright his eyes are and how beautiful his smile is and how amazing his body looks and feels and tastes.

The younger man clears his throat, shifting in his seat and glancing over at the other man quickly. Peter looks hungry. And not for anything he can find on the menu. 

Sometimes their good dates end in trips to the bathroom, too.

iv.

Stiles studies himself in the mirror of their bathroom with a frown. He's wearing only boxers, and the stark paleness of his skin is slightly off-putting, but he's not scrutinizing that at the moment. He turns to the side, stares at his stomach like it might do a trick at any moment.

Peter enters the bathroom, yawning and stretching. He smiles sleepily as he wraps his arms around the younger man and kisses the corner of his mouth, considerate of his morning breath. “Good morning, my love.”

Stiles hums and sighs. “Morning,” he murmurs, breath catching as Peter kisses a trail down his neck. 

“How did you sleep?”

“Good. You?”

Something in his tone or scent must seem off because Peter leans back, eyebrows furrowed as his gaze sweeps over Stiles's face. “Is something wrong?”

Stiles strings his fingers through Peter's hair and shakes his head with a reassuring smile. “No, not at all. Just...stuck in my own head.”

Peter shifts behind the young man so that his chest is pressed to Stiles's back, swaying them from side to side as he wraps his arms around him. “And what thoughts have you preoccupied this morning?”

With a steadying breath, Stiles looks at the both of them in the mirror, heart beating just a bit faster. “You said something last night.”

Peter stops moving, catches the spark's eye in the mirror with a cautious look. “Did I say something to upset you?”

Stiles takes hold of the arms wrapped around him as they begin to loosen, gripping tight to keep them in place. “Nothing upsetting, I promise.” He holds the werewolf's gaze until he seems to believe him and relaxes into the embrace again. “Just something that got me thinking, is all.”

Peter places a trail of kisses along the spark's shoulder. “What did I say? And when did I say it?”

A chuckle falls past Stiles's lips, and he smiles as a flush brightens his face. “Well, you said it while you were fucking me from behind.” Peter groans and runs the tip of his nose up the length of Stiles's neck, involuntarily rutting into the young man's ass. “You said...that you wanted to breed me with pups.”

Peter draws in a breath, taking a moment to think before answering. “My wolf's instincts are very strong in those moments, sweetheart. The impulse to breed is something all wolves have during sex, especially when with their mate.”

“So some part of you wants children.”

Peter turns Stiles until they're facing one another, searching the younger man's face for any clue to what thoughts are tumbling around in his head. “Stiles, what is this about?”

“Do you regret not having kids?” Stiles blurts, unable to stop the quiver in his voice. 

Peter immediately gathers his mate against him, holding tight. “No,” he says firmly, squeezing until Stiles wraps his arms around him as well. “Absolutely not. I regret _nothing_ —” He leans back and takes Stiles's face in his hands. “—about being with you. I never have. And I never will.”

Stiles covers Peter's hands with his own, taking a breath and blinking the sting from his eyes. “What if I could?” he chokes, forcing himself to hold the other man's gaze. “What if I could have your children, Peter? _Our_ children?”

Peter goes still. “Stiles...”

“I couldn't stop thinking about it last night,” the young man explains quickly, sniffling as a few tears fall down his cheeks. Peter instinctively wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs. “I kept wondering what it would be like, having kids, you know? Like, _actually_ being pregnant. So I went searching for articles on my phone—deep deep _deep_ internet shit 'cause even some of the magical communities I follow don't have any info on it—and I found books and forums, and I wrote a fuck-ton of emails, and a few people have already gotten back to me and—”

“Stiles,” Peter interrupts, his tone gentle as he brings the spark out of his torrent of thoughts. “Breathe.”

Stiles does, and the air feels like fire in his lungs. “I want you to be happy.”

With a sigh and a smile, Peter studies the warm amber of his mate's eyes. “My love, _you_ make me happy. Everything about you is perfect. You are all I need in this world.” He brings his hands down to rub at Stiles's shoulders. “Is having children something you've considered before?”

The spark huffs incredulously, and shrugs. “I mean, I just always assumed I'd never have them, being involved with the supernatural the way we are.” He takes a steadying breath and wipes at his nose, hands settling at Peter's sides and kneading with his fingers. “Who would want to raise children while hunting monsters? The thought alone scares the shit out of me.” He shakes his head, closes his eyes briefly and opens them to stare back at his 'wolf, his mate, his love. “But...I would,” he confesses with a shuddering breath. “I would with you, Peter. I would have children with you, because I know they'd be safe. I know you would protect them like you protect me.” His look turns serious, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he shakes his head. “And I'm not saying I want kids right now—fuck, that would be insane.” He sniffs, breathes, sighs. “But...I'd like to. Someday. With you.”

Peter leans forward, pressing their foreheads together and gripping the back of the younger man's neck. “Having children with you would bring me nothing but joy, if that's what you truly want, darling.” One hand involuntarily rubs at Stiles's abdomen, and his breath hitches at the thought of it swollen with their children. “You would look absolutely beautiful. And we can talk about this more. But right now I think we need a shower and some breakfast.”

“Mm,” Stiles hums, leaning into the man and smiling against his mouth. “Waffles?”

The werewolf chuckles. “Anything for you, my love.” He kisses Stiles slow and deep.

Morning breath be damned.

v.

“Fuck you, Peter!” Stiles screams, and the arguing in Derek's loft ceases entirely. Angry voices and harsh conversations go absolutely silent, and several pairs of eyes center on him and the older werewolf. “You can't say that! Not to me!”

Peter bares his teeth and growls low in his throat. “And you cannot just throw yourself into harm's way! You could have been killed!”

“So what?” the young spark shouts, fingers curling into the palms of his hands at his sides. “There is always going to be a 'harm's way,' Peter! There's always going to be the chance that one or more of us are killed! This is the life we chose—trying to keep innocent people from dying!” Stiles looses an angry noise and runs trembling hands through his hair. “This argument is so fucking tired. We can't keep doing this, it's exhausting.”

“It's only exhausting because you refuse to see the point,” Peter says curtly. “Stiles, you don't _think_ when we're in the moment of a fight, you just _act_. There are other ways to confront danger without hurtling into it head-on.”

“I don't want to see any of you get hurt!”

“And we don't want to see _you_ get hurt!” the older man counters, watching as Stiles takes a step backward as if the words themselves push at him. “We've seen that far too often. You take on too much for this pack.”

“Because I have to!” Stiles yells, his voice becoming hoarse. “Because I'm expected to! The whole goddamn supernatural world knows who I am, Peter! I'm the fucking _Hale Flame_ , and if I can't protect my pack, then what good am I?”

Quiet falls over the loft, Stiles's heavy breathing the only sound that echoes around them as the young man wipes at the spit on his mouth. 

“You know we don't expect that from you,” Peter says, the words firm though his tone is softer. “Stiles, we want to protect you just as much as you protect us. You are unbelievably important. Not as the _Hale Flame_ —but as a member of our pack.” He steps forward until he's able to place warm hands on the younger man's arms and rub them soothingly. “If something were to happen to you, we would not survive as a pack.” Stiles meets Peter's gaze with a lost, vulnerable look. “You need to understand that putting yourself in danger puts us _all_ in danger. Because you hold us together.”

Stiles just breathes for a few long moments, finally grabbing Peter's shirt and pulling him forward into a rough kiss. When he leans back, he catches Derek's eye over the older man's shoulder and says, “We're leaving. Don't call unless it's an emergency.” And with that, he tugs Peter towards the loft door, the two disappearing out into the hall.

An awkward silence hangs in the air until Erica huffs and crosses her arms, turning to Boyd with a pout. “Why don't we fight like that?”

Boyd sighs and shakes his head. He doesn't have an answer.

vi.

Stiles arches against the shower wall, head tilted back and mouth falling open as he strokes himself. His toes curl against the tiles beneath his feet, and he groans as warm water spills down his skin in rivulets. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Peter demands, and Stiles lowers his chin and opens his eyes. The older man stands a few paces away, gaze wandering up and down the spark's body with hunger. 

“Peter,” Stiles gasps, biting his bottom lip and using his free hand to tweak one of his nipples. He rolls the sensitive bud between his fingers and pinches it with a moan. “Fuck!”

“That's it,” the werewolf encourages, leaning back against the opposite wall and watching with bright eyes. “Make yourself feel good. Do all the things you like, all the things I do to make you come.”

Stiles pants, hand gliding down his chest and abdomen with a feather-light touch. He gasps when his fingertips graze the sensitive marks on his groin and thigh that Peter had sucked into his skin. He reaches down below his cock and cups his balls, rolling them in his palm and whimpering as he presses a fingertip to his hole. 

“Are you going to fuck yourself, baby?” Peter asks in a low tone. “Open yourself on your fingers? Stretch yourself so I can take you, rough and deep?”

Stiles whines as he pushes two fingers into himself down to the middle knuckle. He's still slick with lube and cum, still stretched slightly from their earlier rounds of love-making. His fingers are slimmer than Peter's, and he looses a frustrated noise. “It's not enough. Fuck, Peter, I need more. I need you.”

Peter shushes him, one hand twitching to reach out and console the younger man. But he doesn't move from his spot. “I know, sweetheart. It's all right. Use another finger. Careful, don't hurt yourself.”

Stiles grunts and pants as he inserts a third finger beside the other two, stretching them slowly and shuddering at the full feeling. The slide of his hand on his cock stutters, and he tightens his grip, stroking faster. “You'll fuck me if I make myself come?” he asks, pleads, begs.

“Yes,” Peter promises, taking his own cock in his hand and stroking it slowly to ready himself. “I'll fuck you until I've wrung every bit of pleasure from you that I can.” His eyes glow a bright, blazing blue. “But you have to come for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”

Stiles imagines Peter inside him, thinks of all the ways he'll make him feel good. He wants his 'wolf _now_. He pulls his fingers out of himself and raises his hand to the back of his neck, pushing just a bit of magic into his fingertips as he presses them hard to his claiming mark. He comes with a shout, raising himself to his toes and stroking himself until the sensation is too much. 

He leans back against the wall, spent and breathing harshly as he stares at Peter through half-lidded eyes. “Was that cheating?” he asks breathlessly, smiling as Peter approaches him with slow, determined steps.

The older man raises an eyebrow and shrugs one shoulder. “I suppose I didn't specify _how_ to make yourself come. So no, not cheating per se.” He places his hands on either side of the younger man, boxing him in against the wall and leaning in. “And I do like knowing my mark on you is a sensitive area.” He raises a hand and curls his fingers around Stiles's neck, pressing his fingertips to the claiming bite and watching with satisfaction as the spark's eyes flutter closed.

“Everywhere,” Stiles breathes, groaning as he grabs at Peter's hips and tries to bring them flush against his own. “Everywhere you touch me is amazing, Peter. Your hands—fuck!—are so warm. I want them on me all the time.” He whines and slides his hands around to grip Peter's ass, kneading the taught muscles there and pushing his own hips forward. “You said you'd fuck me.”

“I did,” Peter agrees, pressing Stiles into the shower wall and capturing his lips in a hungry kiss.

vii.

Stiles grins. 

Peter helps him sit on the edge of the motel bed, quickly making his way to their bags and rummaging through them for a healing potion. The spark's teeth are splattered red, and he wheezes as he takes a labored breath, coughing violently and spitting a glob of blood onto the carpet. 

But still he grins.

Peter turns and grits his teeth as he approaches the younger man, uncorking the vial as he drops to his knees in front of him. “I don't know what you're smiling about, but it's unsettling.”

“You like me,” Stiles slurs, laughing and coughing and laughing again.

“Drink this,” Peter demands, tipping the liquid into Stiles's mouth and watching him splutter and spit most of it out. He growls in frustration and makes his way back to their bags to find another one. “This is our last one. _Do not_ spit this out. Swallow it.”

“I'll swallow anything for you, Peter,” Stiles says with a wide, lecherous smile. Peter purses his lips and uncorks the second vial, bringing it to the younger man's mouth and making an angry noise as Stiles pushes it away from his face. “You—You wanna fucking _marry_ me? I mean, who the fuck wants to put up with me for the rest of their life? What the fuck, Peter?”

“Enough, Stiles!” Peter shouts, and the young spark goes still, staring back at him with wide eyes. “The pollen you inhaled is liquefying your lungs, and you will be dead within the hour if you don't _fucking drink this_! Now shut up and do as I say!” 

The desperation in his tone strikes a chord in Stiles's addled brain. He sways as he grabs Peter's hand and brings it to his lips, tipping the vial's liquid into his mouth and swallowing. He chokes and coughs but manages to down almost all of it.

Peter helps him lie back on the bed, wrapping warm arms around him and holding tight until the coughing stops and his breathing sounds normal again. 

Stiles's hands weakly clutch at Peter's shirt, and he sighs in exhaustion. “Sorry, Peter,” he says softly.

Peter huffs in relief and holds his mate tighter. “Don't be sorry,” he says, closing his eyes and forcing the tears back. “Just go to sleep.”

Stiles curls into the older man and presses his face into neck, lips ghosting over the claiming mark on Peter's skin. “Okay,” he murmurs, asleep before his next breath.

viii.

Stiles wakes with a gasp, back arching as pleasure ripples through him. He blinks and shudders and lifts his head from his pillow, finding Peter sprawled between his legs with his mouth wrapped around his cock. “Fuck,” he rasps, head falling back to the pillow as he tries to lift his hips. Peter holds him tightly against the mattress, lazily bobbing his head up and down along Stiles. 

The younger man trembles and moans and twists his hands into the bedsheets as Peter works him, slow and perfect. His tongue swirls around him with just the right amount of pressure. His cheeks hollow as he pulls all the way back to the tip and sucks gently before delving back down. The heat of his mouth is just—

“Fucking amazing. Fuck, you feel so good, Peter,” Stiles breathes, groaning and arching and grabbing at the hands holding his hips down. Peter tangles their fingers together, moving a little faster as the spark's mouth falls open and filthy noises pour from him. “Please! Peter, please!”

Peter begins to move in earnest, sucking and swallowing around the younger man until he's coming down his throat, body jerking uncontrollably. The older man continues to move on him until Stiles stills, groaning at the sensitivity. He pulls off of him and swallows, placing kisses on his thighs and his hips and his stomach. 

“Good morning, my love,” he says, smiling at the younger man as Stiles looks down at him.

Stiles returns the smile, reaching down to place a hand on Peter's cheek and watching the man nuzzle into his palm. “It is a good morning,” he agrees breathlessly, laughing as the werewolf starts a trail up his body with his tongue and his lips and his teeth until he captures Stiles's mouth in a wet, messy kiss.

“A beautiful morning,” Peter says, fitting himself between Stiles's legs and letting the young man wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him down to cover him completely. He sucks marks into the younger man's collarbone and shoulder and neck while Stiles digs blunt fingernails into his back and snakes a hand into the older man's hair to grip tightly. 

Stiles hums as Peter slowly ruts against him, squeezing his thighs against the man's sides and reveling in the feeling of warm content and safety and love.

And love.

And love.

**Author's Note:**

> I know a couple of the scenes are a smidge angsty, but I wanted to show that even frustrating and scary moments can hold a bit of happiness.
> 
> Just...all the little things. All the little moments. All of them. Take all my money because all I want are the little beautiful sexy amazing snippets of incandescent happiness between these two.
> 
> *sighs in content*
> 
> My lovely friend, I wish you nothing but happiness today! And tomorrow! And all the days! Be safe, be warm, be happy! I love, love, love you!


End file.
